


it came without a warning

by buttcasino



Series: dedicated [2]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Love Confessions, M/M, Porn with Feelings, and Q and Eliot's anniversary!, it's Halloween again, season 1 au where nothing bad happens continued
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-20 21:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21288470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcasino/pseuds/buttcasino
Summary: One year later, it's time for another Halloween party! Quentin and Eliot talk about their feelings, Alice is a good friend, and there may be a couples costume involved.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Series: dedicated [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534637
Comments: 28
Kudos: 139





	it came without a warning

**Author's Note:**

> So, back in July I nonsensically posted a Halloween fic. I decided it's time for more, now that, you know, it's actually fall. 
> 
> I really wanted to get this posted by Halloween, but life got in the way, so here it is! 
> 
> Thanks to Nicole and Mel for brainstorming costume ideas with me, and assuring me people would still want to consume Halloween content even if it was a few days late. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Eliot takes a sip of wine and sighs.

“You are absolutely doing the costume with us, El, this is not negotiable,” Margo is saying, standing in front of Eliot with a wine glass in one hand and the other on her hip.

That time of year has rolled around, meaning “the time of the year where Margo suddenly becomes a raving lunatic and forces Eliot to wear a ridiculous costume for her annual Halloween party.”

It’s not that Eliot blames her for caring about the party, which has become legendary on the Brakebills campus, the anticipation building as soon as the calendar turns to October 1st. Margo has a reputation to maintain, and Eliot can respect that. He admires it, even.

It’s not even that Eliot minds dressing up in an elaborate outfit that will make him look incredibly hot, which is always the main goal of all of Margo’s costume ideas. Again, he admires that about her.

“Come on, didn’t it work out for you last year? You owe me!” Margo insists. She’s been saying that Eliot “owes her” for last Halloween, and Eliot and Quentin’s subsequent—like, immediately subsequent—relationship ever since it happened. Any time she wants something, suddenly it’s “El, you owe me!” and while yes, she has a point, and if Eliot’s being genuine he will never be able to truly thank her for it, does this really mean he’s obligated to do a group costume with Margo and _Todd _for the rest of his life?

Also…

“While of course I am endlessly grateful for your intervention last year, and am absolutely willing to continue paying you back in other ways, Q uh, maybe asked me to do a couples costume?” 

Margo stares at him. “And you said _ yes_? What, did he ask while he was sucking your dick or something?”

Eliot coughs and takes another sip of wine. 

“_Anyway_,” he says, “I’m sure you can survive without me, Bambi. You’re a talented and resourceful woman.”

“Ugh, you’re going to leave me alone with Todd?” Margo complains. “Wait, I have an idea. What if you and Q can do a couples costume and be part of our thing too?”

Margo being willing to let Quentin in on their group costume is surprisingly heartwarming. To Margo, it’s something sacred that they share together, and she doesn’t let other people into their circle easily. Eliot doesn’t know how he got so lucky that his two favorite people also like each other. And Margo_ does _ sort of have unspoken first priority when it comes to this stuff. 

“Okay,” Eliot shrugs. “What did you have in mind?”

-

Later, he finds Q in his room, with Julia. They’re on the bed, lying on their stomachs side by side, as they read from their textbooks, their dark heads huddled close together as they quietly laugh about something. They look up simultaneously when Eliot walks in.

“Hey,” Quentin says, smiling fondly and Julia wiggles her fingers in a tiny wave. “I’m helping Jules study.”

In truth, Julia doesn’t need any help studying. She’s technically a first year, with Quentin’s help, having finally convinced Dean Fogg to let her take the admissions exam again. This time, she passed with flying colors and has been ace-ing her classes, a favorite of all the professors. She has year of hedge witch training under her belt already, and Marina, say what you will about her (Eliot will personally say that she is a crazy bitch who almost got Q killed until Julia had a change of heart and intervened) did a pretty good job with the fundamental lessons of magic.

Julia, at this point, could probably help _ Quentin _ study, but Eliot thinks it’s cute that they’re holed up in here doing homework like this, like he’s sure they always have, back to when they were kids.

“Okay, well, I don’t want to interrupt,” Eliot says, and Quentin makes a nose of protest and sits up and pats the spot on the bed next to him. 

“You’re not, we were mostly just fucking around, she’s a prodigy and already knows all this stuff anyway. Come here.”

Eliot goes to sit next to Q, and Julia shifts over a little to make room.

“We were actually talking about Halloween,” she says, chewing thoughtfully on a pen. “Q was telling me about Margo’s party.”

Well, isn’t this just a perfect transition.

“Yeah?” Eliot says, casually, as he reaches out to run his hand over the back of Q’s head, smoothing his hair down where it’s messed up from lying on the bed. “You’re going to be there, right?”

“Oh, Jules loves Halloween and always forced me to celebrate with her, she’s thrilled to not be stuck with just me anymore, right?” Q laughs, and nudges Julia with his elbow.

She rolls her eyes and nudges him back. “I mean, you are kind of a party pooper, but we had fun didn’t we?”

“We did,” Quentin agrees, and he sighs a little as Eliot continues stroking his hair.

Julia takes this in and doesn’t say anything, but Eliot notes how she smiles a private little smile, to herself.

He’d been nervous to actually meet her. The time he and Q had gone into the city and tracked the book to Marina’s place and Q and Julia had viciously argued while Eliot watched from afar and tried not to let his protective instincts get the best of him, that didn’t really count.

Quentin had laughed and said, “Wait, why are you nervous? She’ll love you.”

“Yeah, but what if she doesn’t?” Eliot had asked.

“Well, then I guess we’ll have to break up,” Quentin said with mock seriousness, but Eliot had only been able to manage a flat _ ha _ to that, and then Quentin had realized Eliot actually was worried, which he admitted was so deranged, and he couldn’t believe what Quentin had managed to do to him in such a short amount of time.

Quentin had made soothing noises and kissed Eliot a bunch of times and assured him that Julia _ would _ like him, and in the extremely unlikely event that she didn’t, he would _ not _ break up with Eliot, and wouldn’t rest until they were friends.

Thankfully, it hadn’t been an issue, and once Eliot got over his initial nervousness, he found himself really liking Julia, and she seemed to feel the same, and had even thanked him for taking such good care of her best friend when they weren’t talking.

And now, they’re in it together, taking care of Q, which is no small task, but completely worth it, and Julia understands that, better than anyone.

“Anyway, I am excited for the party,” she says. “Kady and I already have a costume planned.”

Kady and Julia had become fast friends, and apparently had bonded over 90s television, among many other things. 

“I mean look,” Julia says, pulling out her phone to show them a photo. “Won’t we make the perfect Daria and Jane?”

Eliot agrees that they will, and then he again, so casually says, “Hey Q, so speaking of costumes, I was talking to Bambi earlier, and she had an idea.”

“Oh god,” Quentin says, immediately wary, and Julia laughs, having heard all about the party last year. “What is it this time?”

\- 

“Okay, if you want to be Catwoman, you can just be Catwoman,” Quentin practically yells at Margo. They’re standing on opposite sides of the room, glaring at each other, arms crossed.

“It’s not the same without a Batman, and you know it, Q,” Margo argues. “I would’ve thought you, the biggest nerd-ass on campus, would understand that. It’s not just the costume, it’s about the _ theme_.”

Eliot is standing between them, staring at the ceiling.

“Okay, fine, but why do I have to—”

Margo glares at him. “Because El said you wanted to do a costume with him and I wanted to include you because you’re one of my best friends, but fuck it, I guess, forget it.”

Quentin immediately deflates and looks apologetic. “Oh. Well, thank you. Um. You’re one of my best friends, too?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Margo says, waving her hand dismissively. “Don’t get all sappy on me, Coldwater.”

Eliot is genuinely touched, but then Quentin has to ruin it by talking again.

“Okay, but Batman and Robin as a couples costume is really fucking creepy!” he insists. “I mean, I’m not like, an expert in DC comic canon, but like, didn’t Batman _ adopt _him?”

“It’s not creepy,” Eliot insists. “I mean, maybe a little, but like, in a fun way? And it’s hardly like we’ll be the first people to do it. There’s a lot of uh, analysis about Batman and Robin’s relationship! The costume is, you know, a tongue-in-cheek joke about the inherent homoeroticism of the—you know what, I don’t know, I googled something about it earlier, I’ll send you the link later.”

Quentin rolls his eyes. “You just want to see me wearing tights, don’t you?”

“Um,” Eliot says, shrugging. Q knows him too well. “It certainly is a plus?”

Quentin sighs and says he’ll think about it and goes off somewhere, presumably to do some nerd research on the history of the whole issue.

“I could be Robin if he doesn’t want to do it!” Todd says, looking all too into the idea, and Eliot jumps because he had, as usual, forgotten Todd was even there.

“Ew, Todd, don’t be gross,” Eliot snaps.

“You’re much more of an Alfred-type,” Margo agrees, and Todd is fine with that, because of course he is.

-

Quentin “thinking about it” apparently means Quentin loudly regaling everyone with reasons why he like, morally objects to the costume as a whole, which includes but is not limited to: Batman is basically Robin’s dad/father figure, Robin, in nearly all incarnations, is a child or teenager, and just, generally, it’s weird that Robin doesn’t wear pants.

Margo had tried to argue that Robin is an adult in the Batman movie with George Clooney, which had just made Quentin rant about how bad that movie was, while Margo insisted that it was fun in a campy way, and everyone in it was hot, so that forgives a lot of its sins.

Eliot sat there and watched them fondly, not really having an opinion either way, except that George Clooney was really sexy in the 90s. Margo had construed this to mean Eliot was on her side. Quentin had glared at Eliot for this, even though Eliot himself loudly stated he wasn’t on anyone’s side, especially about a fucking _ Batman movie_, of all things.

So, Eliot just sort of assumes it’s not happening, which is fine, honestly. He has other things to worry about, like how his and Quentin’s _ anniversary _ is coming up, which means that Eliot has to plan something for the day after Halloween, making Halloween itself sort of an inconvenience.

When he complains about this to Margo, she is unsympathetic. “It’s no one’s fault but your own that you decided to fuck him and then instantly wife him up the next day.”

It’s actually mostly Quentin’s fault, for being so irresistible, Eliot thinks, but he’s not going to say that to Margo.

He’s planning an elaborate menu for a picnic on the Brakebills lawn where they’d first met—“barf,” is Margo’s opinion, but what does she know—and that’s where most of his attention is going. Quentin has humorously simple, and one might even say, basic, taste in food, but Eliot has some ideas to punch up the recipes a little, and he sets out for some practice runs so everything is perfect on the day. Before he knows it, Halloween is tomorrow.

Quentin is still dropping comments about the costume whenever he can, and Eliot just smiles and kisses his forehead. 

He’ll do the Batman thing with Margo, and Q will come up with something else, and it won’t really matter anyway, because it’s a dumb holiday that neither of them really care about, and really, just the lead-up to the next day. 

Their anniversary. Now that, Eliot admits, does make his stomach feel a little funny, but he figures that’s normal. He’s never had a one year anniversary with anyone before. No one before Q had stuck around this long, and honestly, before Q, Eliot hadn’t _ wanted _ anyone to stick around this long.

He’s ready for Halloween to happen already, just so it can be over, and he can get to the good part.

-

The Batman costume takes forever to get on, and is almost unbearably uncomfortable. Of course, Margo had found something as authentic as possible for both of them.

“Except I didn’t get full masks that go over our heads, because covering up either of our hair would be a crime,” Margo says, and Eliot nods. Obviously.

“Wise as ever, Bambi,” he says, examining their reflection in the full length mirror.

The cape is pretty dramatic and Eliot looks great in it, if he does say so himself. And the skin tight like, bodysuit, or whatever it is, combined with the knee-high boots, look like they were custom made for him.

Margo, of course, looks flawless in her shiny Catwoman suit.

Todd...is Todd. He’s wearing a tuxedo and looking ready to butler the hell out of whoever asks, which is just how Todd is normally, really.

“It’ll be nice if Q joins us to really complete the look, but we’ll be fine without him if not,” Margo says, adjusting her mask and reaching out to adjust Eliot’s as well, before declaring them party ready.

Quentin had disappeared into his room a little while ago, and Eliot hadn't seen him since.

The partiers have long since begun their revelry, having looked forward to this party pretty much all year, and there’s a lot of ooh-ing and ahh-ing over costumes and the usual rush to get the first round of Margo’s punch, which is highly potent and dangerously delicious. It’s easy to drink too much of it, and of course, that’s exactly what everyone plans to do.

Eliot gets separated from Margo in the crowd and runs into Kady and Julia, who have perfected their Daria costumes, and are laughing about something.

“Have you seen Penny yet?” Julia asks, and when Eliot shakes his head, she shares a conspiratorial glance with Kady, who laughs again. “Believe me, it’ll be better if I don’t say anything.”

Content to live with the mystery of whatever’s going on with Penny for awhile, Eliot inquires about Q.

“I don’t think he’s come down yet,” Julia shouts over the music, which someone has just turned up way too loud.

She and Kady head off to get another drink, and Eliot entertains himself by watching two first years who are dressed as an elf from Lord of the Rings, and Ruth Bader Ginsburg, respectively, make out on the couch. Halloween is kind of a magical time, he has to admit.

He’s just about to go look for Margo, when a voice behind him says, “Holy Halloween, Batman, it looks like we better jump in the Batmobile so I can go buy some pants.”

Eliot turns around to see Q standing there, clearly trying not to laugh.

And...he’s wearing the Robin costume, mask, cape, tights and all. His hair is tied back in a little bun and he looks…insanely cute. Eliot just stares at him.

“You know, Holy Halloween is actually something Robin said at one point, if you believe the BuzzFeed list I found,” Q says, putting his hands on his hips, which just enhances the overall effect of it all. “It’s almost too perfect, right?”

Eliot...keeps staring. 

“So uh,” Quentin brushes a strand of hair behind his ear. “I decided that it’s still creepy, but Batman and Robin have been partners for like seventy something years, and that’s commendable and maybe kind of romantic? I don’t know.”

Eliot nods. He figures he’ll think of something to say in just a second.

Quentin is starting to look nervous. “El? Are you gonna tell me what you think? Do I look stupid?”

“I love you,” Eliot says, before he can stop himself, and Quentin’s eyes widen, and _ fuck_. “I mean, sorry.”

And. Quentin’s face does that thing that Eliot hates where it just completely _ drops_, Eliot can see it even from behind the mask he has on, and it’s like no one in the entire world has ever looked sadder. It’s really unfair, and Eliot never wants to be the thing that makes him look that way. Ridiculously, over the past year, it has become one of Eliot’s worst fears. 

“_Sorry_?” Quentin repeats, his voice small and like trembly, god, how does just one word make Eliot’s stomach drop when he says it like _ that_. He reaches up and un-ties the mask, tosses it on a nearby table, so now Eliot’s confronted with his whole devastated face, which makes it all even worse.

“Uh, wow...okay?” Q says, looking down at his feet.

Eliot reaches out and places his hands on Q’s shoulders. He squeezes in what he hopes is a reassuring fashion. “Q, hey, let’s just—”

“So you don’t?” Quentin cuts him off.

Eliot knows exactly what he means, but Eliot is a piece of shit, so he considers playing dumb, trying to change the subject, playing it off like it’s not a big deal. Because that’s what he does. 

“Q…” he says again, pathetic, almost pleading. He drops his hands from Quentin’s shoulders, and then they’re just standing there, not touching at all. Eliot suddenly feels how ridiculous it is that he’s wearing a mask right now, and it’s really hot and uncomfortable, so he reaches up to yank his off as well. 

But Quentin, stubborn, annoying Quentin, who is perfect and beautiful, and someone Eliot does not deserve in his life, let alone this way, just sighs and says, “El, come on. Talk to me.”

“Um,” Eliot says, looking around the room, because they’re surrounded by everyone worth knowing on the Brakebills campus, all wearing ridiculous costumes. He himself is in a ridiculous costume. Quentin is wearing _ tights _for fuck’s sake. “Maybe we can talk about it later? Enjoy the party? I heard that Margo’s signature punch is just exceptional this year—”

“Okay, no, you don’t get to _ tell me you love me _ for the _ first time _ and then ask if we can talk about it _ later_,” Quentin’s shouting now, which would maybe be embarrassing, but the music is so loud that no one pays any attention. His brow is furrowed and his eyebrows are drawn together, his mouth a perfect, sad little bow. His eyes are so lovely, and expressive, like he’s just feeling absolutely everything it’s possible to feel, and just. Fuck. Eliot really just. Loves him so much.

“God, Q, I’m sorry, okay! It just...happened. I didn’t mean to freak you out. It’s just, you know, not the ideal setting for this conversation, so I thought we could. Maybe do it later when I’m not wearing this fucking _ bodysuit_, I’m going to kill Bambi, I swear it’s made of like, silicone or something.”

Quentin...somehow is able to frown more, which should not be possible. “Wait, hold on. Freak me out? Why would it freak me out?”

Eliot blinks in surprise. “Um. I don’t know? Because I just sprung an ‘I love you’ on you out of nowhere when neither of us have said...that...to each other before?”

“_What_?” Quentin’s eyes are wide. “Yes, I have! I mean, I’ve said it. Before. To you.”

_ Oh Q_. “Well. Yeah, but,” Eliot starts to say, trying to keep his voice gentle, because he knows if he laughs it will all be over, and Quentin might actually murder him to boot.

“But _ what_?” Quentin looks genuinely baffled, which is such a cute look on him. Everything is a cute look on him, in Eliot’s opinion, though.

“Baby, everyone knows that doesn’t count.”

Eliot reaches out to brush a strand of Quentin’s hair that has fallen in his face behind his ear, but Quentin jerks away.

“What the fuck...what are you talking about? Why doesn’t it count?” he insists, determined now, when mere moments ago he sounded completely lost.

“I mean…” Eliot starts, hesitant, because really, is Quentin just being stubborn—because that would be _ so _unlike him—or does he actually not… “It just doesn’t. If you say it during sex.”

Quentin is clearly at a loss for words. He blinks a few times, rapidly, and opens and clothes his mouth more than once, like whatever he was about to say was stolen right off his tongue.

“It’s okay,” Eliot rushes to say. “It’s not—” 

“Who is _ everyone_?” Quentin suddenly bursts out, having found his voice again. “You said…you said ‘everyone’ knows it doesn’t count? Where are you getting this from?”

In truth, Eliot is getting it from various popular culture products he doesn’t really want to mention to Q, but also, it’s just something everyone knows, isn’t it? A truth universally acknowledged, and all that.

“I don’t have...like, citations handy right now, Q,” Eliot says, and at that, Quentin scoffs and rolls his eyes. He would, little scholarly snob. “It’s just. It can happen, moment of passion, people say all kinds of weird—”

Quentin shakes his head and holds up his hand. 

It’s not really a Quentin move, clearly something he picked up from being around Eliot so much, and Eliot spares a thought for how cute it is, but it’s effective. He stops talking.

“Okay, you said _ moment _ singular. It wasn't um. I’ve said it...kind of a lot, El.”

And...yeah. As if Eliot doesn’t remember.

_ The first time, Q had taken Eliot home for the weekend. To meet his dad. Quentin’s mom didn’t know Eliot existed yet, and that was probably a good thing, for her, because Eliot’s not sure he could stand to pretend to be polite, after seeing Q curl in on himself whenever he talked about her. _

_ But his dad, that was fine. As far as relationship milestones went, it was a pretty big one, and Eliot had never actually gotten to that stage with anyone before. Sure, there had been a few times in college he’d met the parents of people he was fucking but in the context of “hey mom and dad, this is my ‘roommate’ Eliot,” or whatever. _

_ But this...it was different. _

_ “Are you freaking out?” Margo had asked, and it was a fair question, because Eliot would have thought the answer would be yes, but. He was a little nervous, but surprisingly, he was looking forward to it. He wanted to see the house where Quentin grew up and look at his baby pictures and hear stories about the funny stuff he did as a kid. _

_ Margo’s response to this was to take a huge sip of wine and say, “Whoa. Jesus, El.” _

_ “I know,” Eliot agreed. “Gross, right?” _

_ Quentin had taken him home to his dad’s house and held his hand like he wasn’t embarrassed at all, and said “Dad, this is my boyfriend, Eliot,” and he’d sounded...happy. And proud, maybe? Quentin’s dad shook his hand and welcomed him inside and it was all so...normal. _

_ “My dad...well he’s not perfect, you know? But he’s not...he’s never been weird about uh, my sexuality, or. You know. He wants to meet you,” Quentin had insisted, and he’d apparently been right about that. _

_ Eliot had gotten to see the baby pictures and hear the funny stories, both of which Quentin protested profusely. He’d blushed and fidgeted, but he grabbed Eliot’s hand under the table while they were eating and Quentin’s dad was trying to like, ask Eliot about his life, in a normal awkward dad way. Eliot himself had never experienced that, but from his limited understanding, that was how normal dads were supposed to act, anyway. _

_ And then, after dinner, he’d gotten to go upstairs and see Quentin’s bedroom. _

_ “It’s always smaller than I remember,” Quentin had commented, and Eliot had taken his time looking around, examining the dusty books on the shelves, the Fillory posters on the wall, the extensive photo collage of Q and Julia displayed prominently over the desk, which Julia had made when they graduated high school. _

_ “Look at that, you were so cute in high school,” Eliot said, tapping one of the glossy photos, and Quentin made a face. _

_ “I really wasn’t.” _

_ “Aw, little high school Q, such a nice, wholesome boy. I bet all the moms loved you,” Eliot cooed, and Quentin rolled his eyes. “Hey, did you ever sneak any girls up here when your dad wasn’t home?” _

_ He would ask if Quentin had snuck any _ boys _ up there, but Quentin’s already told him that he didn’t hook up with a guy until college, and Eliot had tried very hard not to act too obviously jealous of the random guy who had been gifted with Quentin Coldwater’s dick virginity and surely didn’t even appreciate it properly. _

_ Quentin laughed. “Yeah right. This room has seen exactly zero action. Except for, you know, the obvious lonely teenage boy stuff.” _

_ Suddenly, Eliot felt hot all over. “Hm. Well, Q, I have to tell you. That is a real shame. If I’d known you in high school, I would’ve made sure to remedy the situation.” _

_ He reached out and pulled Quentin into his arms, and he just went, so easily, his face turned up towards Eliot’s, sweet and eager. _

_ “Hey,” Q said, smiling up at him. _

_ “Hey,” Eliot said back. “Wanna devirginize your childhood bedroom?” _

_ Quentin snorted out a laugh, and Eliot laughed too, because it was ridiculous, but god, he wanted...and then Quentin had said “sure, why not” and then they were kissing, easy and slow at first, until it wasn’t. _

_ “Um, just, we have to make sure to...oh, fuck, just, my dad’s downstairs, so—mmm…” Quentin had panted while Eliot simultaneously tried to take off both of their clothes and work a spectacular hickey onto Quentin’s neck. _

_ “Right, got it,” Eliot agreed, as he pulled off his tie. “it’s like. We’re in high school and we’re sneaking around, we can’t get caught, because...our families are longtime rivals, like going back to our great-great grandparents or something, and we’re supposed to be enemies, but—” _

_ “Oh my god, what,” Quentin pressed his face to the crook of Eliot’s neck and shook with silent laughter. “What are you talking about, you’re so fucking weird, will you just shut up and—” _

_ There was something indescribably hot about it, spreading Quentin out on the old, creaky mattress that he’d slept on until he’d left for college, and kissing him quiet while he worked him open slowly with his fingers, and then slowly rocked into him, steady and relentless, watching as Quentin tried so hard to bite back his gasps and muffled his cries into bruising kisses on Eliot’s mouth. _

_ “Come on, baby,” Eliot whispered into his ear, and took his cock in his hand when he could tell Quentin was close. “Come on, that’s it. You’re so good.” _

_ And Quentin...had shuddered and come apart underneath him, just like always, but, as he did, not just like always, he gasped out, “I love you...oh god, El, I lo—” _

_ Eliot had kissed him, because he was getting loud, and because Eliot’s body had decided now was the perfect time for him to unexpectedly come so hard he might have pulled a muscle and gone temporarily blind. _

_ Neither of which were exactly new in regards to sex with Quentin, which had been insanely, addictively good, right from the start, but the timing of it was. Interesting. _

_ So, okay, that had been a heightened emotional situation, with the childhood bedroom, and meeting the parent, and Eliot had decided to let it go. Quentin certainly didn’t seem bothered by it. He’d smiled at Eliot when he’d fallen asleep that night and again when he’d woken up the next morning, and life went on. _

Except...that hadn’t been the only time.

They never talked about it afterwards, but Eliot definitely thought about it. Quentin, in his lap while they fucked, and Quentin laid out on the bed, gasping as Eliot worked his tongue into him, and Quentin on his knees in the shower while Eliot tugged at his wet hair and thrust into his mouth. 

And Quentin, sometimes dreamy and blissed out, sometimes frantic and strained, saying “El…love you...I love you so much, _ please _…” 

Now, Quentin is staring at him. He looks...not upset, exactly, more bewildered than anything else. “You never said it back...which, you know, that’s fine, I just thought you weren’t ready? But...you thought I _ didn’t mean it_?”

“You only said it while we were...being intimate!” Eliot insists, because honestly, what is he supposed to think?

Quentin wrinkles his nose and makes a noise. “El, don’t say _ being intimate_, it sounds so gross. And I only said it...then...because um. I can’t really help it? You know it’s just...overwhelming, sometimes, for me? And you _ never said it back_.”

Why isn’t Quentin getting this? “Because I thought—”

“Well, that was stupid!” Quentin snaps. “You want me to say it now? Fine. I love you. I’ve been in love with you for...probably the entire time we’ve been together, so don’t try to tell me I’m just randomly saying it while we’re fucking all of a sudden. _ I love you_, you stupid asshole.”

“Well fine, I love you too,” Eliot practically yells back.

“Good!” Quentin glares at him, arms crossed.

“Great. Perfect. Amazing.” Eliot says, and rolls his eyes.

And then Quentin smiles, and Eliot realizes that, wait, this is actually great, perfect, amazing, and any number of other words he could think of. 

“Oh my god, you’re so dumb,” Quentin laughs, and then Eliot is laughing too, and then Quentin is wrapping his arms around Eliot’s neck and going up on his toes like he’s demanding to be kissed.

“Okay, excuse me, how am I the dumb one here—” Eliot starts to say, but Quentin, still laughing, makes a frustrated noise and grabs Eliot by the back of the neck and _ yanks _his head down and Eliot has basically no choice but to kiss him then.

They’re standing in the middle of the party, noise and people all around them, and Eliot has a sudden flash of deja vu. Exactly one year ago, they’d been here, doing this for the very first time. 

“You love me,” Quentin murmurs when they break apart for a second to breathe, and it would come across as smug, except for the way his voice is basically just a sigh, and the completely blissed out smile on his face.

“Mmm,” Eliot hums in agreement and presses their foreheads together. “You know what else I love? The way your ass looks in these tights.”

He runs a hand down Quentin’s back to the curve of his ass and _ squeezes _and Quentin lets out a surprised laugh.

“Um, well, good,” he says, and he sounds a little breathless, because he loves that and Eliot knows it, “I’m glad you like it because I almost killed myself trying to get them on.”

Eliot smiles and squeezes again, this time with both hands. Quentin makes a choked-off noise in the back of his throat and closes his eyes.

“Happy you lived to tell the tale,” Eliot says lightly, belying the way his pulse is now thrumming at his throat and his heart is beating faster.

“Yeah, thanks to Alice,” Quentin murmurs and wait, hold on. “I had to ask her to help me.”

“Ah, of course. Alice Quinn, Brakebills’ foremost expert in wearing tights. Should I be jealous?” Eliot asks, very lightly, because he’s definitely joking, but also. The thought of Alice, or anyone, really, seeing Q in any stage of undress is not something he _ likes_, per se. 

Quentin opens his eyes only to roll them dramatically. “Believe me, there was _ nothing _remotely sexy about it.”

“Uh, I’ll be the judge of that,” Eliot says, admittedly somewhat nonsensically, but Quentin is famously not trustworthy when it comes to recognizing his own sexiness.

“No, really, it was—hey, Alice!” Quentin gently extracts himself from Eliot’s grasp, having spotted Alice walking by over his shoulder.

Quentin drags her over. She looks cute in what Eliot can only assume is an Amelia Earhart look, which is exactly the kind of nerdy, but dignified, thing he’d expect from her.

“Nice jacket,” Eliot says.

“Nice cape,” she responds.

“Alice, please tell Eliot that helping me with my costume was not sexy at all,” Quentin insists.

Alice makes a face like she bit into a lemon. “Uh, it really wasn’t. He wouldn’t hold still and I can’t even remember how many times the tights ripped.”

“How many pairs of tights did you go through?” Eliot has to ask. Honestly, it sounds adorable, but he has enough dignity to not say that out loud.

“One pair of tights, several minor mendings,” Alice says, smiling at Quentin. “Q’s gotten really good at them.”

“Aw, my handsome Boy Wonder,” Eliot coos, leaning down to press a noisy kiss to Quentin’s cheek. “All grown up and a real magician.”

Quentin squirms and laughs and twists away, which just makes Eliot want to lean in and do it again. “Oh yeah, exactly what I always dreamed I’d be using magic for. Repairing the tights for my creepy couples Halloween costume. I still think it’s fucking creepy, you know that, right.”

Eliot smiles fondly and presses another kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, Q. I know.”

Alice laughs and shakes her head at them and says she’s going to find Kady and Julia.

“_S__ee_,” Quentin insists, like the brat he is, when Alice walks away. “I told you, me putting tights on is an absolutely unsexy scenario. And I fell over like three times and I think I bruised my shin.”

Eliot makes a sympathetic noise and draws Quentin to his side. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” he says into Q’s ear, voice pitched low. “You won’t be taking them off yourself.”

Quentin says something that sounds like “hngh,” and jerks like he’s been electrocuted. 

Then he’s repositioning himself so that they’re pressed together, face to face, and Eliot’s ducking his head so that they can kiss.

Q is just starting to get _ really _worked up and Eliot’s grinning against his mouth and sliding his hand down the curve of his back, making him shiver, when they’re rudely interrupted.

“Stop dry humping like a couple of horny teens at prom for a second, boys, I need to get a look at Q’s costume,” Margo demands.

Eliot pulls away with one last quick kiss that he hopes obviously says _ to be continued _ and laughs a little at Quentin’s grumpy face.

Todd’s there, too, standing just behind Margo’s shoulder in his tuxedo, expectantly.

“Well, as you can see, Bambi, _ my young ward _here decided to pull through for us after all, despite his moral objections,” Eliot declares, gently pushing Quentin in front of him and holding him by the shoulders for Margo’s inspection.

Margo looks him up and down, hands on her hips, with her head tilted to the side, considering. Eliot has come to think of it as Margo’s signature _ judging _pose. She nods.

“Okay, turn around,” she commands, twirling her finger in a circle.

“Hey—” Q protests, looking to Eliot for support, but Eliot shrugs like, _ what are you gonna do_, and Quentin sighs and obediently turns in a slow circle, holding his arms out to the side.

Margo, because she appreciates the finer things in life, and that’s one of the many things Eliot loves about her, lets out a wolf whistle when she gets a full view of Quentin’s cute little figure in the tights.

Quentin heaves another sigh but doesn’t say anything, and when he’s facing Margo again, he drops his arms and raises his eyebrows as if to say, _ satisfied_?

“Very nice,” Margo gives a slow clap and indicates to Todd that he should do the same, which he does, enthusiastically. “El, thanks for letting me objectify your hot nerd for a minute.”

Eliot solemnly places a hand over his heart and says, “Bambi, it’s my honor and privilege to let you objectify my hot nerd, you know that.”

“I also think he looks great,” Todd pipes up, as if anyone cares.

“Um hi, hello,” Quentin gives a little wave. “Nerd in question speaking. I’m like, right here?”

“You sure are,” Eliot agrees, and wraps his arms around Quentin from behind, pulling him back against his chest. “Now shh, just stand there and look pretty, daddy’s trying to have a conversation.”

Quentin sputters in protest. “Okay, we’re absolutely _ not _ doing that.”

Despite his objections, he doesn’t pull away.

“Speaking of hot nerds,” Margo says, completely ignoring him, and looking at Eliot, “did you see Alice yet? Is it just me, or should she wear pants more often.”

Eliot rolls his eyes. “Bambi, for fuck’s sake, are you going to make a move or what? This isn’t like you. Don’t tell me you’re losing your nerve.”

Margo rolls her eyes and waves her hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But you know how it is, hot nerds can be weirdly intimidating. Throw you off your game.”

“Ah,” Eliot says, suddenly full of sympathy. He wraps his arms tighter around Quentin, who he can only assume is still pouting adorably. “Yes, I can relate all too well. The allure and mysterious power of the hot nerd is unpredictable and unknowable. Who among us can ever truly comprehend—”

“Ow, your...the fucking...the belt on this stupid costume is _ digging into my back_,” Q whines, twisting ineffectually in Eliot’s grasp.

Eliot presses his face into Quentin’s hair for a moment, laughing silently, before gently releasing him. “There, is that better?”

Q frowns and rubs his back dramatically. He’s such a brat. Eliot loves him.

Margo shakes her head. “You were saying?”

“The rewards are totally worth the trials and tribulations,” Eliot assures her. “Or as my grandma would say, _ you gotta risk it for the biscuit_, which on the one hand, she was a complete bitch, and not in the good way, so I’m loath to give her credit for anything. But on the other, it’s kind of catchy?”

“My grandma also said that!” Todd interjects. “That’s so funny, I wonder if they knew each other—”

“Ugh, please, Todd, let’s hope not. I wouldn’t wish my heinous grandmother on anyone, even one of your relations.” 

Todd beams. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Eliot. Thank you.”

Eliot rolls his eyes and turns back to Margo. “_Anyway_, I got my biscuit, and you can get yours too. Just, you know. Put yourself out there. Reach for the stars. It takes a village. Okay not that last one, but you get what I’m saying.”

He leans over and plants a kiss on Margo’s forehead.

“Thanks, El,” Margo smiles. “That was weirdly touching.”

“Hold on, am I one of the biscuits in this scenario?” Quentin asks, and Margo reaches out and pinches his cheek.

“Aw, sweetie, I like my biscuits a little less dense, but I’m glad El doesn’t mind.”

Quentin narrows his eyes. “Hey,” he says.

“Oh, El does not mind _ at all_,” Eliot drawls out, sliding his hands around Quentin’s waist. “El likes a nice, thick—”

“Stop talking about yourself in the third person,” Quentin yelps as Eliot’s fingers dig into the spot just above his hip where he’s ticklish.

Margo purses her lips and nods. “He does have a point there, El. It’s a little bit—_Jesus__ fuck_.” 

Eliot turns to where she’s looking. A crowd of people has just moved away from the couch, revealing a lone figure curled up with a book (the first year couple from earlier have apparently moved on, and Eliot wishes them well). It looks weirdly familiar, but in an uncanny valley way.

“Is that...Penny?” Eliot asks. Margo covers her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“What—” Quentin turns around too. “Oh, what the _ fuck_.”

He quickly makes his way over to the couch, Eliot and Margo (and Todd) close behind.

As they approach, Penny looks up from his book.

“Oh, hey guys,” he says. “Just catching up on reading my favorite book for the four-hundredth time.”

Quentin stares at him. “Penny, what are you _ doing_?”

“Margo said I had to have a costume,” Penny shrugs. “So, here it is.”

He’s wearing loose jeans and a plaid button up over a t-shirt. Which is obviously not what Penny usually wears, but on its own wouldn’t be that noteworthy...if he weren’t also wearing a wig.

It’s a cheap, ratty brown wig that goes a little past his chin and keeps getting in his face, and all together, the combined effect is pretty clear.

Margo is losing it. She’s holding onto Eliot’s arm for support, nearly doubled over with silent laughter. For his own part, Eliot is valiantly trying not to laugh.

“Margo said you needed a costume, so you decided to dress up as...me,” Quentin says, his voice flat. “Really.”

Penny shrugs again. “I mean, why not? I even brought a prop.”

He holds up the book he was reading before, which is a cheap paperback copy of the first _ Fillory and Further_. 

“I’ve never read this before, and I gotta say, it’s actually pretty sweet. Maybe I’m turning into a nerd.”

Eliot has to hand it to Penny for thinking of a way to attend the party, in costume, per Margo’s command, and sit in the corner and not talk to people, which is what he would’ve been doing anyway. At least until he got some drinks in him and Kady managed to drag him over to dance. That’s how things usually went at the Physical Kids parties.

“My hair doesn’t look like that!” Quentin insists, and at that, Margo laughs even harder, and Penny starts laughing too.

Eliot, his voice trembling with the effort to not join in, says, “Don’t listen to them, baby, your hair is perfect.”

Penny and Margo keep laughing.

“Your hair _ is _ really nice, Quentin,” Todd offers cheerfully.

“Thanks, Todd,” Quentin says, his voice small.

Eliot places a hand on Quentin’s back and rubs soothingly. “Todd, why don’t you go get Q some punch, I think he could use it.”

Excited to be given a task, Todd snaps to attention. “Yes, sir, oh wait, I mean...yes, _ Master Wayne_.”

Eliot shakes his head as Todd runs off. “Unbelievable.”

Kady, Julia, and Alice make their way over and everyone laughs some more at Penny’s costume. Julia gives Quentin an apologetic hug, and that seems to placate him enough that he admits it is actually pretty funny.

He and Alice end up in an excited conversation about Amelia Earhart conspiracy theories that keeps getting louder and more emphatic the more punch they drink.

“It’s just. It’s crazy!” Quentin says, waving his full cup around dangerously. “Did you know that there’s this one theory that she survived and came back to the U.S. under an alias—”

“Oh my god, yes, it’s probably bullshit, but it’s just, _ so interesting_, because—”

Eliot shakes his head and turns back to Margo. He’s filling her in the earlier events of the evening, while Todd (having returned with a round of drinks for everyone), Kady, Julia, and even Penny by this point, dance around them. 

“Wait, you told him it didn’t count because he said it to you while you were boning?” Margo looks skeptical. “I mean, it’s not like he’s some rando you were having a one night stand with.”

“Okay, it makes sense!” Eliot insists. “Like, I don’t know, haven’t you ever randomly felt like you wanted to ask someone to marry you while you were uh…”

Margo stares at him, eyes huge. “Uh, no, I can confidently say I’ve never wanted to propose marriage to anyone, in bed or otherwise.”

“No, no,” Eliot says, because she’s not getting it. “It’s just a sex thing! Like, you know, ‘his mouth is so good you want it every day for the rest of your life’. Like that.”

Margo is still staring at him. “Jesus, El. I knew you had it bad, but. This is just. I don’t even know what to say, but I have to break it to you, I don't think that's exactly a common thought everyone has during sex.”

She shrugs. “But hey, I’m happy for you! Maybe wait until you both graduate to actually propose, though.”

With that, she pats him on the shoulder and heads over to join the rest of the crowd.

Eliot has a moment where he considers freaking out, but he’s already had one Quentin-related freak out tonight, which is more than enough. 

And Quentin...loves him.

It still feels like something too good to be true, like that kind of thing doesn’t happen to Eliot. And that on its own feels like an almost overwhelming responsibility, that Quentin would trust Eliot not to hurt him. But it’s also maybe the best thing Eliot’s ever felt in his life, so. He’s going to...well, he probably will fuck something up at some point, but he’s going to try really hard to fuck it up as little as possible.

Eliot figures that’s enough self-reflection for now and probably for awhile, so he makes his way over to where Quentin is still animatedly talking to Alice.

They’ve moved on to discussing Quentin’s costume. Well. Quentin is discussing it and Alice is valiantly listening.

“...and those are just a few of the reasons it’s completely fucking _ deranged _ that Eliot wanted to do this as a _ couples _costume,” Quentin is insisting, while Alice nods and sips her drink. “_Oh, _and I didn’t even get into the whole ethical problem of bringing like, a literal child into the world of crime fighting—”

Eliot perches on the arm of the couch and brings his hand up to rest against the back of Quentin’s neck.

The way his touch makes Quentin go still is something Eliot will never get tired of. He stops talking instantly, and turns his face up towards Eliot’s, beaming. His smile is so beautiful. _ He loves me_, Eliot thinks, almost dazed by it. 

“_Hi_,” Quentin says, like it’s been days since they’ve seen each other and not like half an hour and Eliot wasn’t just across the room the entire time. “I missed you.”

Eliot gently tugs on the hair that has fallen out of Quentin's bun, and relishes the way it makes Quentin’s head loll back like he’s gone suddenly boneless. “Yeah? Sounds to me like you were entertaining yourself just fine by torturing Alice with your vendetta against the costume.”

“Mmhmm,” Quentin agrees, smiling up at him, though he seems to have forgotten his righteous annoyance completely.

They’re just sitting there smiling at each other, the soft strands of Quentin’s hair lightly wrapped around his fingers, and Eliot’s about to suggest they make it an early night and head upstairs _ now _when Julia appears in front of them. She’s very obviously tipsy, her cheeks flushed, and her eyes bright with laughter.

“Q!” she says, hands on her hips, which makes her look weirdly imposing, even though she’s like, barely five feet tall. “Come dance with us. You promised!”

Quentin groans and she reaches out and grabs both of his hands. “You always do that and then you end up having fun.”

The music switches to “Shake It Off” and Quentin glares at Julia, but Eliot knows it’s pretty much the only surefire way to get him to dance. He can’t resist, even when he might want to.

Eliot reluctantly lets Julia pull Quentin up and off the couch. She looks at Alice and Eliot and says, “You guys, too, come on!”

Because she’s Julia, she can make this demand and actually have it be obeyed. She’s only been at Brakebills officially for a few months now, but she already fits right in, and it’s not hard to see why Quentin loves her.

So that’s how Quentin ends up dancing, and Eliot dances too, and so does everyone else. Quentin...is not what anyone would describe as a good dancer, but Julia was right, Once he gets into it, he does have fun, and Eliot just watches him, the way he’s smiling, really smiling, so his dimples are showing, and the way he throws back his head and laughs at something Julia says, and the way he keeps glancing over at Eliot, his eyes soft and full of promise.

Eliot dances with Margo and Todd, and then he dances with Kady and Penny (the wig mercifully has been discarded, tossed who knows where after Penny has declared the Quentin energy it gave off was making him a worse dancer), and it’s fun, it’s an amazing party like always, he’s not exactly wishing he were just dancing with Quentin the whole time, but he’s not exactly not wishing that, either.

Eventually, inevitably, they make their way to each other. Eliot reaches out and Quentin is there, and Eliot pulls him into his arms and and then they’re just sort of. Holding each other and gently swaying back and forth, like they’re slow dancing, if it’s possible to do that to “Uptown Funk.”

As much as Eliot wants to take Quentin upstairs, he’s enjoying this too, the way everything around them, their friends, the music, everything, has faded to background noise, and it’s just...Quentin, in his arms, Quentin’s arms around his neck, nuzzling his nose against Eliot’s and looking up at him with the sweetest smile. His hair has mostly fallen out of the bun, and Eliot reaches up and pulls out the hair tie, securing it around Q’s wrist for him.

“This is like, pretty gross of us,” Eliot says, after a few minutes of them just staring into each other’s eyes, what the fuck. “I think we’re killing the vibe.”

Quentin laughs a little and then bites his lip, suddenly coy. “Well, um. I’d hate to kill the vibe, Margo worked so hard, you know. Maybe you should take me to bed.”

“Q,” Eliot laughs in surprise, even though there’s no reason to be surprised at all, it’s where they’ve been heading all night. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was hoping for,” Quentin says, and then he goes up on his toes to press a kiss to Eliot’s lips.

“Please,” he whispers, his mouth still on Eliot’s.

And he knows what that does to Eliot, knows that there’s no way Eliot will refuse, so Eliot takes his hand and leads him away from the party, up the stairs, and to his room. It’s becoming something of a tradition. 

On the way, he makes sure to catch Margo’s eye and give a significant glance towards Alice, who actually has some dance moves, once she’s loosened up and has some drinks in her, damn. 

Margo nods and winks, her confidence apparently restored after Eliot’s pep talk earlier.

As soon as they’re behind closed doors, Quentin snaps, “Take this off,” and puts his hands on Eliot and starts ineffectually tugging at wherever he can reach, which isn’t a lot, because literally everything is skin tight.

“Whoa, whoa, okay, hold on, sweetheart,” Eliot laughs, and takes both of Quentin’s hands in his. “Just give me a second, okay? This will go faster if you stop trying to help.”

Quentin huffs in annoyance but stops trying to assail Eliot with his grabby fingers, for the moment. Instead, he winds up leaning against the door, nearly doubled over laughing, while Eliot struggles to get the damn costume off. It turns out, the process does not go faster without Q’s help.

Eliot sort of prides himself on his ability to do a sexy undressing, and has in fact reduced Quentin to a quivering mess on a few occasions just by drawing it out so long, so this is not a great moment for his pride.

But then again, Quentin has been dating him for a year and there’s no question that Quentin still wants to fuck him, even now, when he’s wheezing with laughter while Eliot hops around on one foot, tripping over the _ fucking cape_, trying to force off his boots.

“You should’ve,” Q gasps out, wiping his eyes. “You should’ve taken the cape off first…”

Eliot curses and rolls his eyes as he tosses his boots into the corner. “Well, maybe I would’ve thought of that if someone hadn’t attacked me and demanded I get naked right this instant.”

Eventually, the costume is discarded into a sweaty pile on the floor, and Eliot is gratified to see the way Quentin’s eyes go dark as he looks him up and down; so, unsexy strip tease, officially not an issue. Ah, the joys of long-term monogamy. 

And soon, Eliot is seated on the edge of the bed while Quentin stands in front of him, making impatient noises. All the parts of his own costume have been removed, strewn on the floor around his feet, except for the tights, which Eliot is slowly, methodically, peeling off. He’s just started to slide them down the curve of Q’s ass, pressing a kiss to his exposed stomach.

“El...why are you...god, hurry up,” Quentin whines, his hands gripping tight to Eliot’s shoulders, his head thrown back.

“Hm,” Eliot says, considering. “Maybe you shouldn’t have laughed at me just now.”

“You’ve been..._oh_...you’ve been teasing me _ all night_,” Quentin groans, shifting restlessly from foot to foot.

Eliot smiles and slowly, slowly, rolls the fabric down a little more. “You like it when I tease you, though, don’t you? Don’t you, honey?”

“_Yes_,” Quentin whimpers, “But I...mmm, it’s too much, I can’t—”

Eliot slides his hand up Quentin’s inner thigh, and at that, something in Quentin seems to snap.

“Just rip them,” he begs, his voice high and desperate. He moves one of hands to cup Eliot’s jaw, tipping his face up so they can look at each other. “Just _ fucking rip them_, please—”

And, well. Eliot is only human. Giving Quentin what he wants is his favorite thing.

So, he yanks the tights down and he isn’t sure if he’s going to be able to do it at first, but he grabs them with both hands and the flimsy material just, _ tears, _leaving gaping holes that spread as Eliot just keeps pulling.

Quentin is gasping the entire time, and Eliot manages to pull the shredded remains of the tights down, lift Quentin’s feet up, one by one, to finally, finally, remove them completely, before he turns his attention back where it belongs. Which of course, is Quentin’s cock, now conveniently right in front of his face, and well, Eliot basically has no choice but to get his mouth on it immediately, right?

The noise Quentin makes, high pitched and trembling, is full of shock and relief all at once. His fingers are gripped tight in Eliot’s hair, and Eliot can feel him straining with the effort to not thrust himself deeper into Eliot’s mouth.

Eliot wants to make him come like this, but he also wants absolutely everything he can imagine, and it makes him feel almost panicked, paralyzed with indecision, with just how much.

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to decide anything, because Quentin gasps out, “El, El, stop, wait,” so Eliot does, and then Quentin, looking dazed, is pushing Eliot backwards onto the bed, and then climbing on top of him to kiss him breathless.

“Want you,” Quentin says, in between kisses, and Eliot bites his lip, just hard enough to make him gasp, and murmurs, “How? Tell me.”

He knows what Quentin wants, but it’s worth it to see him flush, and then the nervy way he looks Eliot in the eyes, and worth it to hear him say, soft but determined, “I want you in me.”

“Yeah? You want it like this? You want to ride me?” Eliot asks, and Quentin groans and nods, and Eliot has to bring his hands up to grasp Quentin’s hips, tight, just to steady himself for a second.

He uses the spell to open Quentin up and make him wet, because they’re both desperate for it at this point, but he still slides two fingers into him anyway, because Quentin loves it, and it makes him shiver and rock his hips down in a way that drives Eliot absolutely crazy.

“So hot, baby,” Eliot whispers, and the praise makes Q moan and thrust down faster, more insistent.

“Okay, okay, I know,” Eliot soothes him, stroking a hand down his side. “Here, come on, let me—”

It’s almost too much, the way Quentin sinks down onto him all at once, his fingers gripping the sheets on the bed underneath him, like he can’t help it, like he’s been waiting forever. Eliot feels helpless for a moment, unable to do anything but watch, let Q take what he wants, as Eliot holds him by the hips and Q makes quiet, desperate noises as he moves. 

Eventually, Eliot’s stupid lovesick brain catches up enough that he can start to do his part here, and he makes Q practically _ sob _ when he tightens his grip on his hips to still him, so Eliot can thrust up into him, hard, again and again. _ There_, Eliot thinks, smug and hysterical at the same time, _ see, I know what you need, I can give it to you, just me, no one else... _

“El,” Quentin groans, and Eliot blinks up at him, and says “yeah, come on, come on,” as though Quentin had asked him a question.

It’s like those simple words unleash something in Q then, and suddenly he’s moving faster, bracing his hands flat on Eliot’s chest now, and gasping out, “love you...I…fuck….I love…”

And...Eliot suddenly needs him on his back, needs to just...and Q’s gasping even more as Eliot flips them over and pushes his legs apart, gripping his thighs, and then he’s making a shocked noise and desperately digging his nails into Eliot’s back as Eliot pushes back into him, frantic.

He makes Q come like that, after just a few hard thrusts right _ there_, that push him up the bed, and he has to throw out a hand to brace against the rattling headboard, and then he’s coming, arching his back into it and whimpering, and Eliot didn’t even have to touch his cock, and he’s just...so tight and hot and Eliot groans, helplessly, and thrusts again, one more time, before he’s coming too, and it feels like goes on forever. 

He doesn’t know how long they lie there, afterwards, Eliot’s face pressed safely into the curve of Quentin’s neck, Quentin’s arms around him, both of them still faintly trembling, what the fuck, Eliot’s never been like this before, like some...Victorian romance novel heroine. But he’s also never really...been in love before? Maybe this is just what it’s like?

He knows Q will just lie there and fall asleep if Eliot lets him, and although the thought is tempting, he knows from experience that they’ll both be thankful in the morning if Eliot forces them to clean up now, no matter how many cute sleepy, grumpy faces Q makes. So, he eases them up, gently, and changes the sheets while Quentin stumbles to the bathroom, bleary eyed and clumsy.

The bed is made again by the time Q gets back, and he hums happily and slides under the covers, making a little cocoon for himself. Eliot wants to join him, but his phone is making the irritating dinging alert sound, and he absolutely refuses to be woken up later if this happens again, so he reaches over to silence it.

It’s a text from Margo, comprised entirely of emojis. Two girls kissing. A variety of finger gestures. Fireworks. A champagne bottle.

Eliot texts back with a congratulatory 100, party horn, woman wearing a crown, and throws in the croissant—which like, why is that even an option?—as a callback to their earlier conversation, because it’s the closest thing he can find.

“Looks like Margo got her biscuit,” he says, and he looks over at Q, who is still awake, but barely.

“Mmm,” Quentin mumbles. “Biscuits...with butter...and honey…”

Eliot shakes his head and smiles. I’ll make breakfast in the morning, okay?”

Quentin burrows deeper under the covers and nuzzles his face into the pillow. “Mmm,” he says again. “Okay. ‘S nice.”

The party is still going on downstairs, and Eliot quickly casts a silencing spell, and the sounds of music and laughter disappear. He’s struck again with a sense of deja vu, thinking back to last year at this exact same time.

“Hey,” he says, looking back at his phone one more time. 12:14 AM. “Actually, I’ll bring you breakfast in bed. Know why?”

Quentin smiles, closed-eyed and dreamy. “‘Cause you love me,” he sighs.

Eliot laughs as he gets into bed, cuddled up under the blankets and next to Q, beyond thrilled that he’s spoiled Quentin enough that he sees breakfast in bed as his right, which it is, completely, but in this case…

“I do love you,” Eliot agrees, and Quentin sighs again, happily, and murmurs, “I know.”

Eliot reaches out and strokes his hair, unable to resist.

“And, more specifically,” he continues. “Happy Anniversary.”

At that, Quentin opens his eyes. He smiles again, and he reaches up for Eliot’s hand, and brings it to his lips. He presses a kiss to Eliot’s palm, and then to his wrist, before his eyes slide shut again.

"Best year ever,” Quentin yawns, and he’s still holding Eliot’s hand. “Have a present for you...later…”

Eliot kisses his forehead and closes his eyes, too. “I can’t wait.” 

“Paper,” Quentin mumbles, nearly inaudibly, and for a second Eliot is confused, before he realizes.

“First year anniversary, the paper anniversary, right?” he whispers, their faces so close together that he doesn’t need to be any louder.

“Mmhmm,” Quentin snuggles even closer and Eliot wraps the blankets around both of them even tighter, and it’s just the two of them, safe and warm.

It really has been the best year Eliot can remember. If he were the same person he was back then, he would worry there’s no way this could last. But the old Eliot didn’t have Quentin, brave and stubborn and full of faith that things can be good. _ He loves me_, Eliot thinks, and it’s the last thing he remembers before he falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from "Now That I Found You" by Carly Rae Jepsen, because that's just the theme of this universe now.
> 
> I wanted to let Eliot and Margo both get their hot nerds, since that's how it always should've been. Jane Chatwin really messed up Timeline 40 in that sense.
> 
> They just need to be happy and Eliot needs to be allowed to be the wife guy (in the best possible sense of the word!) we all know he is.
> 
> I am not at all an expert in Batman, or comics in general, so please forgive me for that, all of my information was gleaned from google searching. Like Eliot, I mostly just wanted an excuse for Quentin to wear tights.


End file.
